


Starbucks girl

by queenbellevue



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Clarke is awkward, F/F, I just LOVE how in all the other fics Clarke is a success in the art world, I tried to write funny and witty characters, There's a fish in the sea analogy somewhere, but I'm not funny or witty enough to do so, like okay
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-15
Updated: 2015-05-15
Packaged: 2018-03-30 16:13:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3943219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenbellevue/pseuds/queenbellevue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She looks like someone who gets coffee personally delivered to her every morning, not someone who goes out for their caffeine fix at Starbucks like the rest of the peasants. Normally, Clarke wouldn’t even bat an eye, but there’s something more to her that Clarke can’t put her finger on, a certain je ne sais quoi about her presence that is just so utterly… commanding?</p><p> </p><p>In which Clarke Griffin has an art degree from a prestigious liberal arts college in DC, so naturally she's working at Starbucks. One day, Lexa shows up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Starbucks girl

Having an art degree is a good thing, she tells herself as she pours possibly the hundredth mocha frappe vanilla decaf drink concoction of the day. Sure, she could’ve gotten an engineering degree like Raven and gotten a six figure job straight out of college, or gone the Bellamy route of working for a private security firm (she totally looks the part, being a 5’5” blue-eyed blonde and all) but then again, she does get one free drink every shift, so who’s the real winner here?

Jokes aside, working at Starbucks has its perks. Every day, there’s an endless stream of cute boys and hot girls that walk through those doors, all _literally_ with a thirst only she can quench. Clarke smirks to herself at that. As a young employee with a handy Australian accent and good looks (manager’s words), she’s trained to be fully approachable but not attainable, to be the cute barista behind the counter who occasionally flirts but never dates customers. You know, the whole _keep them coming back for more_ mentality. Only a few months into the job and Clarke has it down pat. The odd coy smile here, the occasional cute laugh there, vague jokes of having coffee instead of making it when she’s off the clock. It’s a fun routine, and if she gets a bigger tip at the end of the day, then she’s not going to complain about it.

Clarke’s on mopping duty when **_she_** walks in. Now, it would be a shame not to mention her fantastically green eyes, or her gorgeous dark hair, or any one of her flawless features really, but the first thing that catches Clarke’s attention and makes her breath hitch is the sheer confidence **_she_** exudes with every step. Of course, this being the nation’s capital, Clarke’s seen her fair share of influential figures, and this girl looks like one of them. **_She_** looks like someone who gets coffee personally delivered to her every morning, not someone who goes out for their caffeine fix at Starbucks like the rest of the peasants. Normally, Clarke wouldn’t even bat an eye, but there’s something more to her that Clarke can’t put her finger on, a certain _je ne sais quoi_ about her presence that is just so utterly… commanding?

 _Who is she? What is she going to order? Should I have put the ‘wet floor’ sign up near the bathroom?_ These were all questions that should be going through Clarke’s mind, but they aren’t, and it’s almost poetic that the Taylor Swift song comes on just at that moment. How do those lyrics go again?

_Trouble, trouble, trouble._

…

“Hey Clarke,” that’s Octavia, one of Clarke’s co-workers and occasional good friend, sounding annoyed, “would you stop contemplating the Earth’s existence and hurry up?”

She rolls her eyes but nods in response. Octavia’s one to talk, given how she spends most of her day on the phone with her boyfriend. She turns her attention back to **_the girl_** who’s stepping up to the counter, and Clarke wonders if she even has a chance with her.

“Espresso, double, hot.”

Octavia just nods and goes to make the drink. There’s the tiniest hint of an Australian accent in her voice, so subtle that Clarke wonders if maybe she’s imagining it. Hell, Clarke’s imagining a lot of things right now. **_She_** looks like she’d be a good kisser, especially if she’s this assertive in everything she does. Is it weird that Clarke’s a little bit excited that **_she_** didn’t order her drink to go and therefore Clarke has more time to… observe?

Now, maybe it’s the fumes from the floor cleaners, the Taylor Swift lyrics still blasting over the speakers, or perhaps it’s just the romantic ambience of a Starbucks during midday (probably the fumes), but when Octavia emerges with the drink in hand and **_the girl_** moves to the register to pay, Clarke blurts out the words: “It’s on the house.”

Of course, this would be all fine and dandy, except she’s maybe a couple of feet away with a mop still in her hand. So the good news is that this got **_the girl’s_** attention. The bad news is that her first impression of Clarke is less cute Starbucks girl and more creepy stalker who works for Starbucks so she can possibly spike people’s drinks.

If **_the girl’s_** freaked out, she does an impressive job at hiding it. Her head is slightly tilted as she looks at Clarke, but her expression remains neutral…more or less.

“O…kay, on the house it is,” Octavia finally says after what seemed like an eternity. “Enjoy your coffee!”

“Thank you,” **_the girl_** replies politely, to both of them.

“You’re welcome,” Clarke smiles. What she hopes is to be invited to sit with her, but more customers come in with their overly complicated orders and she still hasn’t finished mopping the floor so it doesn’t happen.

When she’s finished cleaning, **_the girl_** is nowhere to be found.

“She left, if that’s what you’re wondering.” Octavia smirks, and Clarke almost wants to smack the iPhone out of her hand, but she settles for what she hopes is an intimidating glare.

But hey, there’s always tomorrow, right?

The next day, Clarke arrives at work bright and early, volunteering to work the register for the entire day. She tries really hard not to sound too eager, though Octavia gives her a look that tells her she failed. The prospect of seeing **_the girl_** again is an exciting one, and for the first time in a while, Clarke feels giddy with anticipation.

She greets every customer with a genuine smile and moves around with a spring in her step, but with each order served, her excitement level goes down a notch, and at the end of a busy day, she just feels tired.

“Oh Griffin...” Octavia says while patting her back, and actually manages to sound sorry, “there’s plenty of other fish in the sea.”

Except Clarke doesn’t want any other fish, God knows why, since she’s been in her presence for all of a minute. She wants that specific brunette fish, who probably has a hot and rich fish boyfriend or girlfriend already, but still _._  

The next couple of days go by like they always do. Clarke wakes up, goes to work, goes home, work some some art, sleep. She actively avoids eating fish.

It’s four days later when Clarke’s back with the trusty mop in her hand, Octavia’s at the counter, and she can’t help but laugh as that same Taylor Swift song comes on the speakers. She barely remembers that girl who came in and ordered that hot double espresso or whatever. What a dumb moment that was. What kind of barista falls for a tall, dark haired, insanely attractive stranger at a coffee shop anyway? Talk about a freakin cliché and a half.

“Espresso, double, hot.”

Clarke’s head snaps up so fast her neck almost breaks. Well, what’s wrong with a good old cliché, anyway?

“Could you put it in this cup?” **_The girl_** asks, producing a white coffee mug from her bag.

The store’s policy is that they aren’t allowed to fill non-Starbucks cups, and while Octavia doesn’t want to say no, she doesn’t want to lose her job, either, so things are at a standstill.

“Of course we can,” Clarke says quickly, before her mind can catch up and tell her she’s being dumb, and walks over to the counter. She shoots Octavia a look which says ‘don’t screw this up for me’. Octavia smirks, but to her credit, she takes the cup and goes to make the drink without saying another word.

“Thanks,” **_The girl_** smiles, and it is every bit as magnificent as Clarke imagined (not that she spent a lot of time imagining, of course), “again.”

So she remembers.

Clarke doesn’t fight the massive grin that’s plastered itself on her face. “You’re very welcome. I’m Clarke,” she offers, pointing at her own nametag.

“Nice to meet you, Clarke.”

Of COURSE it’s at that moment Octavia chooses to interrupt them with the stupid coffee that **_the girl_** ordered. 

As she pays (Clarke manages to keep her pay-for-strangers’-coffees impulses in check this time), **_the girl_** looks like she’s pondering something.

“I don’t normally say this, but would you like to join me, perhaps?”

Like she even has to ask. Hell, Clarke’s gotten so lost in the girl’s eyes that she barely even knows where they are.

“Oh, I wouldn’t want to impose…”

Except she would very much like to impose. In fact, there are all sorts of imposing scenarios going through her mind right now.

“Okay th-“

“I mean I’d love to.” There’d be time to cringe at herself for sounding so desperate later. Right now, she’s not about to let this girl go for another four days (not that she counted).

“Great. Oh, and I’m Lexa by the way.”

Lexa. Great name. Outstanding, in fact. Her parents did a really good job there. _Lexa_. Nice.

* * *

 

 

So as it turns out, Lexa is the most interesting person ever. Clarke listens intently as she talks about her extensive travel as a diplomat, her experiences of being in the military, her fascination with the stars (the celestial bodies that generate light, not those of the Hollywood variety).

“I’m sorry I didn’t leave a tip last time, that was rude,” Lexa says as she takes a sip from her cup. Clarke most certainly does not stare as she does this.

She wants to tell Lexa that she can leave a tip _this_ time, possibly her number.

“It’s alright. Making coffee from the finest quality roasted beans is reward enough.”

Lexa laughs, and it’s a great sound. Clarke instantly loves hearing it.

“So, I gotta ask, why the mug? Are our Starbucks cups not good enough?” The question is said jokingly, but Lexa’s face visibly falls. It’s not a good sight. Clarke instantly hates seeing it.

They’re both silent for a couple of seconds before Lexa speaks.

“It’s from my parents. They…died 5 years ago today.”

Clarke doesn’t know what to say. Her own father died when she was super young, so she doesn’t remember ever missing him. Her mother is the only parent she’s ever had. She wants to reach over the table and give Lexa a long, long hug, but that’s probably not appropriate.

“I’m really sorry.” Clarke knows it’s such an empty sentence, Lexa’s probably heard it repeated a million times before, but she doesn’t know what else to say.

“It’s okay.” Lexa takes a quick look at her watch and proceeds to get up. “I should go.”

“Are you going to come back?”

_Please say yes, please say yes, please say yes._

“I’ll try.”

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
